Surviving Survival
by LeFox
Summary: A clown. A storyteller. And an unforgiving, uninhabited jungle planet. They've survived the attack on Hyda IV, but can they survive, well, survival? -GonnellaxQuantestorie-
1. I Hope This is Mud

**Author's Note: **…I know I said I was done with fanfiction, but I _also _said I would do this one day, and even if there's absolutely no audience for it, I can't help it. I know it's crack. I accept it's crack. I know it'll probably suck in the long run. I might not even finish it, as my record of finishing things, well, sucks. BUT NOT KNOWING IS HALF THE FUN. Or something like that. :3

Enjoy the crack. It's the only one of its kind, so far as I can tell. And if it isn't? Please point me in the direction of the rest.

**Notes: **Takes place after the attack on Hyda IV. Possibly could be considered AU. Gonnella/Quantestorie. Written sometime around 12:00 - 2:30 in the morning. Contains swearing. Rating could change. Seventy-eight percent crack.

**Surviving Survival**

**Chapter One: I Hope This is Mud**

By LeFox

Trees. That had been the first thing he'd noticed - he was surrounded by trees. Not the carefully pruned or artistically grown trees one _usually _saw in this day and age, either. That was not a good sign. There were a lot of bugs around; that was the second thing he noticed. And they were _huge _bugs. That was also not a good sign. There was a fine mist obscuring the tops of the trees, and the trees were _tall, _with moss and ivy hanging heavy from the branches. Exotic birds flew overhead, letting out bloodcurdling cries. Some other animals leapt from tree branch to tree branch, and a few of them stopped to peer down at him. And through all of this, the clown simply lied flat on his back in what he hoped was mud, staring up at the treetops, animals, birds, moss, ivy, mist, and enormous bugs.

The foremost thought in his mind was something to the effect of, _I'm alive. I survived. I got out in time._

The second thought, he felt, was much more appropriate. The second thought was, _Where the hell am I?_

The third, if the reader was wondering, was _I hope this is mud._

It had been a nightmare inside a nightmare, and each moment had been somehow worse than the one before it. Gonnella closed his eyes, shutting out the latest scene in _this _nightmare. …Now, if only the insects and animals would shut up, this might actually be peaceful. He could use a little peace. He hadn't had _peace _since… well, since Hyda. And while that hadn't really been that long ago, the chaos between then and now made it feel like it'd been an eternity.

First, there was the attack. That had seemed pretty damn bad at the time, and sure, maybe it was the worst part of all. It was the _cause _of all that followed. The Vendeeni. Stupid Vendeeni. He _hated _the Vendeeni. Gonnella growled a little, though the sound was drowned out by the screaming insects and birds. He growled a little louder. He decided he hated the insects and birds, too, though perhaps not as much as the Vendeeni. They had ruined what _might _have turned out to be a nice half-vacation - they'd only had two shows the whole week, and the rest of the days were free. Gonnella had planned on spending those days lounging at the beach, playing games, and most of all, _relaxing. _No more work (or rather, no more coming up with clever schemes to get _out _of work, as the case may be, but who was keeping track?); just a few days of rest and relaxation. Dream come true.

Stupid Vendeeni.

After the attack, it had been the evacuation center, and the Helre after that. Too cramped, too crowded, too much panic, too much worry. It wasn't in Gonnella's nature to worry about anything for very long, and he wasn't necessarily what most people would call _compassionate. _Not that he hadn't _tried _to be comforting when that blue-haired boy showed up, complaining that his parents hadn't arrived. Gonnella had tried to offer some words of comfort, some sort of silver lining. It was just that every word that popped out of his mouth came out _wrong, _and he just couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut. And the more he talked, the worse things got, and… well, he was glad the other members of the Troupe had been there to gloss over his idiotic outbursts. As usual.

_The others._ Gonnella's eyes shot open again, as his heart clenched somewhere around his stomach, and his stomach leapt to his throat. The other members of the Rossetti Troupe - had they survived, as well? Were they somewhere around here? They'd all left at once, hoping to stick together… surely the others couldn't be far. _The pods were supposed to go to the same general place, weren't they? _The Helre personnel had assured them that all of the escape pods were meant to land on the same planet, even if they landed in different locations at different times. Surely, _surely _the others were nearby, and in one piece. Although… Gonnella sat up slowly, looking toward what was left of his own escape pod. The thing had slammed into one of the massive trees, uprooting the tree a bit, smashing the small ship. The impact had thrown Gonnella into the suspiciously soft mud - otherwise, he might have broken something. Probably his back; maybe his neck; maybe his skull. That might have been unpleasant.

The clown sighed, surveying the damage. The pod wouldn't fly again; that was certain. There was no "repairing" the ship; even if Gonnella knew the first thing about fixing things like this (he had never bothered learning how to repair machinery; seemed like too much work), it was obvious it was damaged beyond repair. Even the distress signal had stopped transmitting. Not that it would've done much good out here. Gonnella glared up at the thick canopy of tree branches above him.

He had been on this planet for all of thirty minutes, and he already knew he hated it. The sooner he found the others and got the hell away from here, the better.

But where to start looking? He looked around at his surroundings, his heart sinking all over again. In every direction, there was jungle - dense, dark, dangerous jungle. Gonnella was not an explorer. Gonnella got lost in a straight hallway, with flashing arrows and a neon sign reading "Go here, dumbass" in bright pink letters. Gonnella wasn't sure he wanted to attempt the jungle exploration thing; maybe it would be easier to let _them _look for _him. _After all, his escape pod was sending quite a bit of smoke into the air; maybe they'd be able to see it. Never mind that there was already mist from the jungle everywhere, and the trees and brush were so thick they wouldn't be able to see him anyway; none of that was important.

"Hello," he called, his voice sounding oddly hollow in the now strangely quiet jungle. The insects and birds still called, but the sounds had faded to the back of his mind now, leaving only silence. He hated that silence. He wasn't used to silence. With a deep breath, Gonnella cleared his throat, and tried again. "Hello!" he called, louder this time, letting his voice echo through the trees.

No answer. Only echoes.

An odd chill crept down his spine. _Maybe they're just further away, _he thought, struggling not to panic. He hadn't panicked when Hyda was attacked; surely he could keep his cool now. They were just too far away to hear his voice. That was all. He just needed to try a little louder.

_Deep breath. Let it out. Deeper breath. Let it out, too. _His heart was beating in his throat. _Ignore it. Deep breath. Deeper. Now._

"_HELLO!_" he yelled as loudly as he could, and the birds in the trees took flight, screaming as they went. Gonnella waited in silence, his heart pounding in his ears, anxiety beginning to creep over his entire being. Several long minutes ticked by in that silence. After the first minute, Gonnella became aware of the fact that his hands were trembling. And then his knees started shaking. And then his entire body was trembling, as terror swept over him. Was he… all alone? Alone, in the jungle, with a broken distress signal? How was he going to survive? He'd never had to survive by himself before; even in the old days. And he wasn't the same guy he had been back then. He'd gone soft. He'd gotten _used _to having Piccolotto, Dulcinea, Ursus, Quantestorie, and Peppita around to help out. He didn't _have _to do anything by himself… if, in fact, he ever had to do _anything; _he could usually get out of it.

Gonnella was alone in the middle of a jungle. He took a moment to process this… until several seconds later, when a voice met his ears. It was vague; so vague he couldn't quite make out exactly what the other person was saying, but he knew the voice. Gonnella began to laugh, taking a few steps toward where he _thought _the voice was coming from (he wasn't quite sure; the jungle distorted the direction - it could be coming from anywhere). "Over here," he called, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound. The voice came again, closer this time, but still fuzzy: "I'm here."

This exchange went on for several minutes; this calling back and forth business. It got no more interesting as the time passed, though the man's relief grew with each passing second. Gradually, he even began moving toward the voice, reaching out foolishly with one hand as if to grab on to the voice and pull himself toward its source, until finally, the speaker came into view.

Gonnella was never one to be sensitive. So, when Gonnella saw his companion and fellow Troupe member, he wasn't going to lie to himself: Quantestorie looked terrible.

It was fairly obvious the Alphalian had been wandering aimlessly in the jungle for however long they'd been there (it must have been an hour by now; maybe a few minutes longer). Twigs and leaves had broken off and gotten snagged in the man's light brown hair, and though his ponytail made a valiant effort to stay in place, most of his hair had been tugged free. There were scrapes everywhere skin was exposed - his hands, his face, even his neck; places where branches and brush had grazed Quantestorie's pale skin, leaving angry red welts. He had gained several bruises here and there, and the sash he typically wore around his waist had been secured around his arm, possibly as a makeshift bandage. Evidence of a rough landing, perhaps. And as he set eyes on Gonnella, for once, the long-winded storyteller seemed speechless. And so, for that matter, was Gonnella.

All the latter managed was a small squeak (it may have been "eh," if he had slowed down long enough to fully form the word), before breaking into a jog, dashing his way over to Quantestorie, fully intending to stop before colliding with the man but somehow unable to do so. He threw his arms around the startled man in a fit of relief, sending the both of them to the ground.

"Oh, man," Gonnella murmured, looking down at his new companion in this godforsaken jungle. "I dunno about you, but I hope this is mud." He grinned.

Quantestorie grimaced. "I can assure you beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt, my dear friend, that it is _not._"

**Author's Note: **Okay, so it's off to a rough start, but it might get better! You never know. After all, this one was written during those late-night-early-morning hours where it's really a bad idea to do much of anything that doesn't involve drinking, sex, or killing things. 'Til next time, if indeed there is a next time, this is LeFox, signing off. And getting her ass to bed.


	2. Guns and People Who Shouldn't Use Them

Author's Note: Yes, yes, I know, I'm the most unreliable author on the face of the internet. However! An update after forever and three quarters is better than no update at all. Thank you to my one reviewer, should you happen to come back. I'm very grateful! If not... I can't say I blame you, really. AND TO ALL OF YOU PEOPLE WHO GLANCE AT THIS FIC, THANK YOU, IT MAKES ME SMILE.

**Surviving Survival**

**Chapter Two: Guns and the People Who Shouldn't Use Them**

By LeFox

Several hours later, after Quantestorie had taken advantage of a nearby stream to wash his sullied shirt (and the nasty cut on his arm, and his hair, and finally saying, "Oh, to hell with it," and simply taking a brief bath, after which he emerged covered in strange little blood-sucking creatures that simply refused to detach themselves and so of course it fell to Gonnella to pick them off from the places Quantestorie couldn't reach, which left the both of them in a foul mood and decidedly less happy for each other's company), the Alphalian was beginning to look a little more like his usual self. His hair was secured back in its rightful place, the smaller scratches had already faded, the bruises were easily overlooked, and he no longer looked as if he had survived a brief walk through Daemonium. More importantly, he had thrown together something of a makeshift camp - a pile of curved branches draped by several of the large fronds of the trees overhead.

Gonnella slept through the building of the shelter. He figured that if he were awake - or even appeared disposed to _be _awakened - he might be forced to help, and hadn't he already done the hard work of finding his companion? It didn't seem fair for Quantestorie to have any higher expectations than that.

So naturally, he was somewhat unhappy when the troubadour suggested he ought to go "find something" to eat.

"You mean… _hunt_?" Gonnella asked, trying very hard to put every last bit of his dissatisfaction into the word, hoping it might make a difference. Hoping, somehow, that it might just make Quantestorie rethink his suggestion; might make him take pity on Gonnella's obvious plight.

It did not.

"The mighty hunter never shirks the opportunity to bring low the beasts that walk his domain," the man said, prodding at the pile of sticks that he apparently hoped would magically burst into flame. "Nor does he scorn the honor of delivering to those he holds dear a feast of unrivaled-"

"Yeah, okay, but I'm not a _mighty hunter,_ eh," Gonnella interrupted. Quantestorie looked up from his uncooperative pile of sticks, clearly agitated; he hated it when people interrupted his spiels, and Gonnella tended to do it more often than most. "Besides," the clown rushed on, not giving Quantestorie the chance to start going off again. "My gun isn't for hunting animals! It'd _vaporize _'em, and then what would we eat, eh? And what if I have to shoot… something…" He floundered a moment, gesturing wildly with one hand. "Something… something, I dunno, _dangerous, _and I'm out of charge cartridges 'cause I've been frying birds? What then, eh?"

To his credit, Quantestorie sat through this without interrupting, and without so much as a hint of impatience. Alphalians as a race were quite gifted at maintaining a perfect aura of unwavering calm, and they were typically rather good in a crisis, and tended to be _quite _skilled at dealing with irritation. Quantestorie was no exception to the rule. He was, however, irritated, whether it showed or not, and were he of a more violent disposition - which he briefly wished he was - he might have smacked the other man quite hard. Possibly kicked him. Possibly in a place he oughtn't kick anyone. Instead, he simply allowed Gonnella to ramble, as he himself resumed the more useful task of rubbing two sticks together in the hope that one of them might spark. They did not seem in a particularly sparky mood. This did little to improve his own rather sour, hungry mood.

Finally, he looked back up. "You can be resourceful, can't you?" he asked mildly, smiling. Gonnella scowled, his good eye narrowing. Though he knew it was a racial trait that all Alphalians constantly sounded as if they were trying to strike up an argument, he could've sworn the man actually _was _being a smartass, just this once. Grumbling, he moved - slowly and stubbornly - toward the wreck of his escape pod. The gun was useless, to be sure, but perhaps there might be something else. If the replicator wasn't damaged, maybe he could form a less _severe _gun; maybe an old-fashioned rifle of some kind. Replicators were infamously bad about forming weapons that required ammunition, however: they might manage a charge cartridge, but actual bullets were nearly out of the question. The closer he drew to the wreck, the more certain he became that _surely _the replicator was severely damaged, and perhaps he wouldn't have to go hunting after all.

Stupid replicator.

It was perfectly functional, of course, one of the hardiest bits of the bunch. Gonnella sighed, shaking his head. He glanced woefully back toward Quantestorie, but the man was once again preoccupied with striking up a fire, still with little success. Smirking, Gonnella called, "Should I replicate some matches for you? Wouldn't be any trouble, eh." This earned him a rather uncharacteristic glare from the troubadour, and Gonnella accepted that as a sign of victory. On this planet he was sure to have few enough of those, so he supposed he ought to at least accept them where he found them, no matter how thoroughly unsatisfactory they happened to be. He turned back to the replicator, deliberately forgetting and trying to recall exactly how to use the thing. He pushed a key, he wiggled a slider, he typed in and canceled several requests.

When he could no longer convince himself that he did not know how to use a replicator, he sighed, and finally keyed in his request - a low-charge laser rifle, something on par with what the Federation's lowest officers might use. He gazed longingly at his own gun, a souvenir from the old days, and considered bringing it along - just in case he did run into _something… something… something dangerous_. He decided against it. The last thing he wanted was for his prized possession to be ruined in this damned jungle. Besides, the largest things he'd seen around were the bugs, and _they _didn't seem particularly keen on attacking (though Quantestorie continuously glanced fretfully in their direction; he had never cared for insects, let alone ones the size of cats; Gonnella took a great deal of amusement from this).

"What if I get lost?" he tried, one last time, as he stood at the edge of the jungle. He had, "for the sake of efficiency," discarded his hat, gloves, and cape. 'For the sake of efficiency' had, of course, been more along the lines of 'for the sake of procrastinating just a bit further in hopes that Quantestorie will eventually come to his senses' in Gonnella's mind. He looked toward the jungle. Now that it was late in the evening, the trees were dark, the noises forbidding. He began to feel the first creepings of true dread. "It's dark out there, eh! I could fall; get hurt; get lost…"

Quantestorie seemed unsympathetic. "You ought to have left sooner," was all he had to say on the matter. He didn't even trouble to look up from the sticks. Gonnella began to wonder if perhaps the man was beginning to channel Dulcinea; he was certainly being more of a bastard than usual, and it had _nothing _to do with racial faults - he was sure of that now. With one final sigh, he set off into the jungle, thinking bitterly that he wasn't going to bother catching enough food for two.

As he had feared, the jungle was dark. Worse, though, it was _alive_. Things crawled unseen in the darkness; things moved through the trees like shadows; things watched him with glowing yellow eyes. Branches seemed to reach out and scratch at him or catch at his clothing. Roots came up from nowhere to catch his feet. He fell twice; each time the gun in his hand might have gone off had it not been on safety. Frequently, he glanced behind him, hoping for a sight of fire, and seeing none. He called out Quantestorie's name, and thankfully - angry though he may be - the Alphalian indulged him enough to call back. Reassured by these returns, Gonnella moved on, his eyes now adjusting to the dim moonlight that filtered through the misty trees. He ducked around low-hanging moss and ivy, hoping to catch sight of some beast running through the forest. A deer, maybe. Didn't they have deers in jungles? When no such beast ran by, he turned his attention up toward the trees. Where were those damned birds? He'd heard them all day long, and now that he actually _wanted _one, the things were nowhere to be seen.

"Come out, you miserable-" he began, but was cut off by the sudden sound of a gunshot from behind. He jumped, and his foot caught on a slick rock. He tumbled down a slick incline, landing quite solidly in the river the two of them had found earlier that day. Well, at least now he had a better sense of direction. Unfortunately, he also now knew precisely where the gunshot had come from.

He scrambled back up the hill, powerful Velbaysian muscles moving with absolute precision. He flew over the ground it had taken him nearly twenty minutes to cover in less than fifteen seconds, and was scarcely panting when at last he reached the camp. Though Gonnella wasn't quite certain _what _he had expected to find at the camp, he was approximately seventy-nine-point-six percent sure it wasn't… _this_.

A fire had indeed been started, though it wasn't quite the small pile of sticks Quantestorie had been working at. The tree into which Gonnella's escape pod had crashed was quite happily ablaze, though somehow - perhaps the moisture of the surrounding jungle - the fire had not spread to the other trees. Gonnella's escape pod, already mangled beyond believe, was also burning; the machinery was sparking unhappily. He stared at this inexplicable sight for several long minutes before finally remembering that perhaps he ought to worry about the more important thing - _where in the world was his gun_. It had been in the cockpit of the escape pod, which was now burning slowly to a crisp. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. _It's only a gun, _he told himself, but there was an empty pit in his chest. He'd saved that gun for a reason, after all. To think it should be destroyed on a planet like this, in such a way…

It occurred to him, a bit belatedly, that perhaps he also ought to worry about Quantestorie.

He looked around, and found the carcass of a rather large beetle. It was clearly dead, and clearly fried; its white flesh was charred black in many places. And then Gonnella knew. He sighed, and looked around some more, unsurprised to find Quantestorie sitting on the ground, stunned and blinking, holding Gonnella's gun. The clown made his way over, doing his best to look amused instead of furious. It wasn't as if he really intended to repair the escape pod and fly away, but it had certainly been nice to have the option. An option he _no longer had_, because _someone _had decided to freak out over _insects_.

Stupid Alphalian.

"So, you saw a bug-" he began, and waited for Quantestorie to nod. "Flipped out-" Another nod. "Got my gun-" Another nod. "Fired at the bug-" An exuberant nod. "Fell over from the recoil-" A more hesitant nod. "Fell on your ass-" Quantestorie did not nod at this. "So the gun went off again, and hit the tree, and now my escape pod is toast, and we have no replicator." The loss of the replicator had only just struck him. They could have made _food! _Replicator food was horrible, to be sure, but it was more than what he'd been able to catch (and yes, he was quite glad to gloss over his own miserable failures in light of Quantestorie's spectacular blunder - after all, _he _was _always _making mistakes, and it had come to be expected).

Slowly, Quantestorie looked up at him, and Gonnella felt his anger receed. The man looked tired. He hadn't really noticed it all that much, but he supposed it was to be expected. While _he _had taken a brief nap, Quantestorie had been working nearly all day, and that was _after _he, too, had surely crashed into the surface of this planet just as hard as Gonnella had. Doubtless he was missing the others, too. Doubtless he was hungry, too. Doubtless he was upset about this situation, too - perhaps even more, as he had been the cause of it. Gonnella looked away, suddenly ashamed of himself.

Unfortunately, doing so placed his gaze squarely upon the corpse of the beetle.

"Hey," he began, more gently than before. "D'you suppose we can eat that, eh? Better than nothing…"

Quantestorie looked at the bug, then back at Gonnella, and quite suddenly, the both of them broke into helpless, hopeless laughter, and all anger and error was forgotten.

Author's Note: Yeah, you knew they weren't getting out of this story without eating bugs at least once. Until the next foreverannahalf, thank you for reading.


End file.
